Let Me Be Your Hero
by CrawfordsBiscuits
Summary: Modernday EC. Both Erik and Christine have physical reminders that the world is a cruel place. Erik’s comes in the form of a mask and Christine’s comes in the shape of a dog…
1. Chapter 1: Perceived Weakness

**Let Me Be Your Hero**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own POTO… but I do own Dom and Cyrus.

**A/N: **I got fed up waiting to post a new story, so I decided to so today. I've got a few more almost ready too, but one at a time… Let me know what you think.

Please read and review…

**Chapter 1: No Trait Ever So Evenly Attracted and Repelled as Perceived Weakness…**

Erik paused just inside the door to the flat he shared with his oldest friend, Dom, and – until the end of term – Dom's son, Raoul. Currently, however, he was distracted by the curious presence of someone else in the flat… a truly rare thing indeed as neither of the two older men ever had any guests and Raoul rarely brought anyone there to see two stuffy older men – besides, Erik didn't exactly have any good feelings towards his friend's son and Raoul could plainly see that. It was true that Erik found the boy unbearably flash and vain – even, more than a little obnoxious. So Raoul didn't exactly hang around his father's friend for any length of time, and he certainly didn't bring friends round often.

Besides… there was another reason his father's friend was always so loath for strange company – he had a terrible and debilitating nervous stutter which surfaced in the presence of people he did not know, large crowds or when he was particularly stressed. Its only cure was familiarity and a huge degree of peacefulness – though such a rarity almost never occurred outside his home. Regardless, sometimes Raoul did bring a girl inside just for a few minutes if he wanted to change and then they'd be gone without a word to anyone and Erik would never so much as see the same girl again – though they all looked the same to him anyway…

But now there was a goddess perched upon the arm of Erik's favourite chair and he could not work out how exactly she had gotten there. _I am being visited by an angel_, he thought stupidly for a brief moment. Certainly, more curious than the angel herself, was the Alsatian sitting next to her which had only briefly come to his attention. _An angel with a dog_, he amended as he regained his ability to move and finished his motion of placing his briefcase down on the floor of the entrance hall and removing his coat to place on the coat stand. _Protection for the divine and delicate soul visiting a dangerous and imperfect world…? _he wondered.

She hadn't noticed him yet and he took the opportunity to approach her slowly, watching, _observing_ as the long-haired beauty studied his bookshelves from her place on his chair. It was curious then seeing this glorious young woman in his place, with his things, looking at _his_ music books. To tell the truth, he felt a peculiar urge to pick out a volume of musical styles, sit down brazenly in the same chair as her and read to her. But the large dog's presence kept him rooted in reality and he ignored his urge, instead, his foot managed to find something solid to bump into and he drew her attention with the sound, though she appeared more inquisitive than startled as she turned to smile at him. "Hello," she offered sweetly, her lilt surprising and pleasing him both at once.

He nodded at her, not quite trusting his voice yet, and he walked into the kitchen, keeping his eyes on her until he was standing by the worktop, Dom chopping vegetables in front of him. "Who is that?"

"That – _that_ is Raoul's girlfriend. Just ignore them – he only brought her over while he gets changed and then he's taking her to dinner and the opera, of all places."

"Opera? Raoul?"

"I know. She must be something special is all I can say…"

"She must be…" Erik murmured when what he was really thinking was that there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind that she was the most breathtaking creature, _by far_, he had ever laid his eyes on. "What's the dog for?"

"Why are you asking me? I only live here – it is not my place to question when a canine turns up in my living room, attached to the arm of a beautiful girl. Though I saw his harness… perhaps she's blind."

"Blind? She looked right at me!" Erik argued.

"You never know… these people have amazing senses – perhaps she heard you."

"She didn't hear me and she's not blind." Of that he found himself so sure. He couldn't explain why – but how he knew that that was the case because no one had ever looked into his eyes with such clarity, and he didn't want to give that up at the sake of an illusion.

"Then I don't know, do I? I can never give you an answer you're happy with, can I?"

"Has he known her long?" Erik asked after a long pause, trying not to sound too bothered.

"No – this is the first time he's taken her out. They met at the Opera House this morning… she is an enthusiast and he was bringing me my briefcase that I'd forgotten. He's love-struck, I believe, so he – well, he didn't exactly tell her the whole truth…"

"He _lied_ to her?" He found himself watching her from the doorway, unable to pull away.

"Well, you've gotten very moral all of a sudden."

"What did he lie to her about?"

Dom laughed softly and put his knife down as he turned the kettle on. "He managed to convince her that he had _your_ job, actually…"

"_What_?"

"And I think he would like your help to find something of substance to tell her during the intermission…"

"Why doesn't he ask _you_? He will get no help from me…"

Dom had learned to get used to the frosty relationship between Erik and Raoul. He didn't like it much as it didn't make for a very good living environment. But it would only be while Raoul finished this term at university… so he put up with it. And Erik had always been unsocial anyway… it was hardly a surprise that he didn't like his home being _invaded_, as he called it, by a student who did nothing but upset his quiet life. "Oh, come on, weren't you ever madly and desperately in love?"

"No," he answered honestly, _soberly_.

"Well, perhaps not madly, nor desperately, but you must have been in love once…"

"Never."

"A first girlfriend you're nostalgic about? Your first serious relationship? A woman you, at the time, thought you'd die without but then you grew up and it didn't matter anymore…? Any of this would fall under that category…"

He shrugged. It was not a big deal to him – he had resigned himself to being alone his whole life. And that's how he _had_ been. "I socialise as much now as I did when I was his age."

"Oh." The only times Erik went out was when he went to work or to something work-related – and when he did benefits at the theatre, he turned up comfortably alone and never danced or flirted or so much as made light conversation. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man – the kind of man who _would_, when he found the right woman, love her completely and forever with no room for anyone else ever coming in between them, or he would love not at all and ignore and overlook and forget. "Well, Raoul has his fancies… the girl out there clearly caught his eye, and it is hardly surprising, is it? She is quite beautiful – so what if he had to exaggerate his abilities just to win her round?

"_Exaggerate _his abilities? This isn't like telling her he can cook a delightful apple crumble and really he doesn't know the first thing about setting the oven… he completely fabricated a career for himself – _my_ career. She need only suffer him singing in the shower once to know that he is bloody tone-deaf!"

"She will get to know him and it won't matter."

"Oh, it will. It so _will_…"

"I know you and Raoul don't get on very well, but let him have his mistakes… he'll learn and grow up a bit in a few years – she shouldn't bother you for the length of time she's here – just let him have his fling and you'll likely not see her again after a week or two at the longest. You don't even have to talk to her."

"It's not _her_ that bothers me and I don't see why you would allow your son to go on thinking that it's alright for him to just use her until he gets bored and then drop her as though she never meant anything."

"Erik… she's eighteen – I hardly thinks she's looking for someone who'll make a good husband at this early stage."

"Perhaps she _is _– and how would you know? She doesn't seem like one of those girls who walks around outside in her underwear and bats her eyelids and is only looking for a good-looking man to parade around and suck the face off in public until the next one comes around two seconds later. She seemed sweet – _demure – _she was well-dressed and cultured… polite. She is one of those rare gems who is always looking for something special in someone and who never ever considered having flings. She will probably only ever love one man all her life."

Dom could do nothing but stare at Erik, wishing he knew what had gotten the man so riled and _offended_, it would seem."Well, that was… _profound_. Listen, Erik, I think you are taking this too seriously. I think you're annoyed that Raoul pretended to have your job just to get her attention and you're annoyed that he is having so much fun. Forget it. I'll tell him not to bring her back here again and he won't and then we'll move on and you'll forget this ever happened."

Paying very little attention to Dom at all, Erik continued to view the young lady from his vantage point inside the kitchen door. She could not be lovelier to look upon, so he thought. "She is just sitting out there all alone… where is he?"

"Perhaps he is having a shower… I really wouldn't know. Go talk to her if you are that concerned – come on, I was just about to take her out a cup of tea."

He didn't object and followed Dom with his arms folded across his chest.

Still sitting perched upon his chair, the goddess smiled brightly at them as they returned to the living room and clasped her hands together, truly interested – unlike some other girls that Dom could name that he'd met because of Raoul and who had tapped their foot impatiently and ignored him and been only interested in seeing Raoul hurry up. They had no manners that he had observed. But this girl was different. She was polite.

"Thank you, Mr. de Chagny," she lilted, no less brightly as she accepted the teacup and saucer from him, balancing it elegantly on one hand as she held the handle of the cup silently in her left hand. The teacup and saucer were an unspoken joke that Dom and Erik played on each of the girls they ever found waiting for Raoul… if they couldn't hold it properly, the cup and saucer would rattle together as though they were shaking, and they had, as yet, never found one who _could_ hold it silently. Until this one… who not only managed that, but seemed to manage looking distinguished while sitting on the arm of a chair, her legs crossed and her hands over her knee, back held straight, and her dog obediently sitting in front of her. "It is very kind of you."

"You're quite welcome," he answered, sitting himself down on the sofa as Erik stood awkwardly off to one side. He wondered if he should politely whisper to the poor girl that she was sitting in Erik's chair or if he should just let the grumpy old man stew. "I'd like you to meet my friend, colleague and flatmate – Erik," he announced instead, gesturing towards the man whose blazing eyes were probably frightening the dear girl with their scrutiny.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," she acknowledged, standing up to give Erik her hand to shake in greeting. "My name is Christine Daaé." While Dom had told her to call him by his first name, she had politely refused and, not knowing Erik's, had obviously given him the respect that his more senior generation deserved. Truly, they both wondered if this girl had stepped out of time somewhere along the way.

Erik grasped her fingertips lightly and watched as she sat back down again, wishing he had been able to keep that delicate, precious little hand in his for longer. She was so beautiful – her hair natural and uncommon, curly and gloriously dark, hanging to her lower back, her eyes a dazzling blue, her skin the palest white. He wanted to paint her in that moment, sitting on his armchair – as the angel she appeared to be, perched over his shoulder, her darling gaze falling lovingly down upon him. He was mad, he acknowledged, but he did have his fancies and his whims too – and the one at the forefront of his mind now was to paint the angel before she flew away. Not that he would ever forget a single detail…

"Mr. de Chagny was just telling me that he is a producer at the Opera House… may I ask, sir, what you do?"

"He's my underling," Raoul answered humorously from his bedroom door, finally coming out. "That is to say, he works for me."

Erik lifted his eyebrow and then narrowed his eyes at Raoul in warning. _Just push it, boy… give me a reason to show you up for the deceitful bastard that you are. _And he would have – straight away too – if he had trusted his stutter not to show itself up at such an inopportune moment. But he could not trust it, ever, and she was making him so nervous in all of her glory that he knew he would lose her interest straight away if he'd started talking – _trying_ to talk – to her.

Dom quickly tried to fix it before Raoul messed everything up for himself and he chuckled falsely, smiling at Christine. "What Raoul means, of course, is that he is the Composer in Residence at the Royal and Erik is a visiting conductor…"

"Whom I'm training," Raoul added, his overconfidence only just falling short of surprising Erik.

Christine looked between the two of them and frowned. Personally, she could not see how it was possible for a twenty-something young man to teach someone much older than him how to conduct or compose. But, as the well-brought-up young woman that she was, she kept silent on such a subject. "I see. No wonder there are so many books of music and art and culture in this flat, then…"

"All mine," Raoul proclaimed needlessly as Christine stood up, taking hold of the dog's lead.

"It was a pleasure meeting both of you," she said, smiling at each of the older men individually as she shook their hands again. "I hope we see each other again some time."

Erik watched, helpless as her unending smile absorbed him and he could not do or say anything until she had been ushered unceremoniously – and rather _rudely_, he thought – out the door, by Raoul.

"A turn up for the books, then," Dom commented. "My son has landed a girl whose IQ is higher than her bra size…"

"By pretending to be _me_… And show a little respect – _she_ was nothing but courteous to _you_. And _your son_ couldn't conduct to save his life… he'd probably have the first bass's eye out with the baton and then tell the percussion section to join in the middle of a violin solo. She will find out on her own eventually if he continues like that. She's not stupid. And if he ever calls me his underling again, I feel I may just have to gut him."

Dom laughed and shook his head. "You wouldn't do that… you'd have to start paying his share of the rent – and we both know that you are a miser."

"I noticed the dog's harness," he started after a while. "What do you think it means…?"

"I don't know… but at least we know that she's not blind."

"Dom?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Raoul he can bring that girl, and only _that _girl, back here any time he wants… during the day," he added as an afterthought. "And nowhere passed the living room or kitchen… His – not to mention, your or my bedroom are off limits for them to go in together at any time. Of course, she may use the bathroom, or a bedroom by herself…"

"Shall I write him a list?" Dom asked, laughing. Really, his friend could go overboard sometimes… but at least he was progressing as far as not minding another's presence in the flat on occasion. "Besides… I don't think she looks like the type to just do that sort of thing. It'll be fine. I'm sure he'll be just thrilled to have earned your blessing."

"_He_ will never have my blessing. But _she_ is a gem. She should be cherished." And he sulked off to his own room, suddenly aware that he had not even said one word in passing to the perfect creature that had graced his armchair that afternoon.

* * *

"My God, that woman is a mewling donkey! She couldn't hit that E flat if I marched up to her and booted her so hard up the backside that my foot shoved her vocal cords into the right bloody configuration!" 

"Calm, Erik…" Dom said, watching in amusement as his masked friend barged into his office on cue that morning, like he did most every morning when they were doing rehearsals. "She is a hack, alright, I get it. But she has a contract and there is little I can do about it. It's not _my _fault that the panel out-voted us on who to hire… you were all for hiring none of them and scrapping the whole bloody idea."

"It would cost you more to replace her than me, and yet, _I _am the one the whole production would fall apart without!"

Dom smiled and stood up from behind his desk, heading over to the mantle to pour his friend a drink. "Well, aren't we big-headed this morning? Your ever increasing self-worth can be a bit overwhelming at such an hour. As much use as you are, Erik – you are not a soprano and we can't put on this production withoutone of _those_…"

"If she ruins my music," he growled, jabbing Dom in the chest with his finger, "I will kill her, you will be down a soprano – though I use the term loosely, the production will lose millions and we will all be out of business."

Dom shrugged and pushed his hand away, leaning over the decanter as he poured an even amount into two glasses. He was used to Erik making angry threats against people's lives – he was used to Erik making angry threats against _his_ life… he was even used to Erik dropping into casual conversation the urge to dismember people. So it did not mean much to him as he listened to the man complain about his least favourite woman on the planet. "If it annoys you so much, why don't you give her private tuition until she _can_ hit the note?"

Accepting the glass, he shuddered at the mere thought and leaned back against the wall. "Sometimes, in my nightmares, you say things like that and you actually mean them… then I waken up in a cold sweat and am thankful that you're not _that _much of a plonker."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged again and walked back to his desk. "You always bloody do anyway," he mumbled.

Erik half-huffed and half-growled, knocking back the short of brandy and then flying out of the door in a rage, barely noticing where he was headed until he was three streets over and standing outside a quiet restaurant called Chez Laurent.

Adamant not to let his absolute abhorrence of unknown places force him to sulk back to the Royal and that pig of an opera singer, he made himself go inside and somehow managed to get shown to and seated at a table near the front by the host. It was too close to the windows for his comfort, but he could hardly have argued.

A few minutes later, a young blond waitress appeared at the table, casting a bored, cursory glance over him. She flipped her order pad open and stared down at it intently. "What can I get you?"

_Deep breath… deep breath_. "I – I – I… I'd… I'd like s – s – s – some …" _Oh, Christ, Erik…_

He looked at her semi-apologetically and tried harder to articulate his simple request. And to his utter dismay, she looked at him as though he was wasting her time, stuffed her pad into her apron and just walked away from him, back to the kitchens. He was mortified… and just about to flee from the humiliating scene when he felt a gentle hand upon his shoulder, staying him.

The goddess was with him again… leaning over him in concern, her precious blue eyes sparkling in their compassionate gaze, so close to him that he saw something he'd never seen before there. He saw her scar… the imperfection clouding her right eye. And his heart broke for her, though he didn't know what it was or how it affected her life in the least. And then she smiled at him so serenely that he fell back to his seat ungracefully in surprise and tried to control himself.

"Why don't you tell _me_, instead…?" she asked of him sweetly, sitting down across from him at the table, her obedient Alsatian coming to lie down beside her feet. "It's alright… I have all the time in the world."

"I – I – I couldn't…"

"It's alright," she assured again, placing her hand over his on the table. "I'm a waitress here," she explained, "I'm just about to start my shift but I heard what happened with Cass when I came in. She can be so uncaring and mean-spirited… unfortunately, she is also Laurent's niece. If you tell me what you'd like, I'll get it for you," she promised softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He stared at her, hopelessly lost in her sweetness and amazed that she had touched him when she did not need to. And he found himself telling her what he wanted, riddled with pauses and breaks, yes, but he had told her nonetheless.

She smiled at him and nodded, standing up again. "I'll bring it straight away… would you like anything to drink?"

"T – tea…"

Patting his hand one final time, she clicked her tongue and the dog stood up, following her towards the kitchens, his shining yellow harness visible even in the dim light of midday.

It was beyond him how he could be so eloquent one moment and so hideously un-so the next. It was frustrating and awful and humiliating that he could not control his own speech… but she had made him feel better and he was _so_ thankful. She had been so considerate of him… staying there faithfully as he ordered, not once trying to finish his sentence for him and not once asking him to repeat himself. He respected her like he respected no other for that one little act of caring.

"I'm sorry for the way Cass treated you," she apologised again, coming to stand beside him as she laid the teacup on the table. He shook his head and she smiled at him, earning him another rush of happiness to spread throughout. "I recommend, though, if you don't want to see her again, you could sit in any of the other sections…"

"Y – You –Yours…?"

"Mine?" she smiled and pointed towards the back. "Mine is over there."

He committed that to memory and stood up, carrying the empty teacup with him so that she'd follow, and he took a seat right in her section, happier for so many reasons as she smiled at him and poured his tea. Now, if only he could forget that she was spoken for…

© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, July 2006

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	2. Chapter 2: Proud Flawed

**Let Me Be Your Hero**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own POTO… but I do own Dom and Cyrus.

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter of this story. I'm glad some people liked it. Tell me what you think of this chapter and I'll hopefully be done with the next one soon. **Tiochfaidh ár Lá**, for those of you who read it, will be updated this week, I think. Hope you like it…

Please read and review…

**Chapter 2: Proud… Flawed.**

Christine Daaé was a proud young woman. Beautiful and jaded, she wore her scars on the inside, bar two ambiguous, indistinct outward clues to her hardship. The first, an almost unnoticeable glint in her eye… an imperfection – a small irregularity – something one could distinguish only after studying it for several long, confusion-wrought moments. The sort of fluke one at first does not allow oneself to believe… something akin to rubbing a photograph to try to remove a possible fleck marring its surface or rubbing one's own eyes to remove the blur before it becomes apparent that the obscurity's existence is outward. A scar. A line of faded tissue that did not belong upon the gentle blue of her right eye… something that set it aside from the other… something that provoked continuous questions…

The second, the regal figure of a dog – the Alsatian which never left her side… the fluorescent yellow of his harness clearly visible upon his statuesque shoulders as he strode along beside her, pausing when she did, sitting obediently at her feet as she picked a particularly delicious-looking mango from the stall outside a fruit and vegetable shop and then following her in as she took it inside to pay for.

"No dogs allowed," the owner announced as she made her way to the counter at the front of the shop, and she prepared herself for yet another rendition of this same conversation. It was a multiple daily occurrence.

"He's a support dog."

"But you're not blind," the man said obviously as he studied her eyes to make sure. Then he saw the scar and was no longer certain… but she stared back at him with such clarity – right into his eyes – that he could not imagine her sight having left her.

"No, I'm not blind. He's a support dog, not a guide dog. Can I pay for this, or what?" she asked, exasperated. One more question and she was set to leave. Yes, Christine Daaé had her pride – she resented her Alsatian's harness, for it flaunted what she saw as her weakness to the rest of the world. Why would she need a support dog after all unless she could not function as others do?

The grocer took her mango reluctantly, weighing it and pricing it monotonously as he strived to try not to pry any further. Momentarily, the young woman left anyway and he contented himself with looking after her as she went, shaking his head before turning to the next customer.

Outside, Christine sighed and tried to slow her agitated pace – she knew she really shouldn't let people bother her this much… and all for the sake of a piece of fruit which did not look quite so appealing anymore.

Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head to clear it and decided to head towards the park to sit in the fresh air for a few minutes before going back to work. Besides, it was time Cyrus had a bit of a break. It was a lovely day and they could sit together in the sun, on the grass, until she composed herself. It had been interesting seeing her new boyfriend's flatmate at the restaurant today… when she'd first met him, she'd not known what to think of him – of course, she'd wondered about the mask… but she wouldn't ask – she would _never _ask – the poor dear had too much to deal with already. She felt sort of sorry for him, in fact, as his stutter clearly made life difficult for him, and she knew what that was like…

Momentarily, a laughing child ran up to her to retrieve his Frisbee from the ground near her where it had fallen and he looked longingly towards Cyrus, his smile replaced with the sort of look a small boy gets when he has his fickle heart set on something. A moment later, the boy's mother appeared behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm sorry," she laughed, "boys _will_ be boys."

"Mum," her son interrupted, still gazing at Cyrus, who had sat up rigid beside Christine when the boy came running over. "I want that dog."

"Don't be silly, Liam, you can't have that dog – he belongs to the lady."

"But I _want_ it!"

In the compromising instincts found only in a parent who has had to deal with ever such ridiculous demands from their young child, she turned to Christine, a complete stranger, and pleaded with her eyes that she oblige her this little request so that the rest of the day would not be filled with such demands. "Do you think he could just pet him for a moment?"

Immediately, Christine became guarded and struggled quickly to her feet. "Sorry. We have to go."

Walking around the confused mother and her son, she pulled Cyrus along beside her by his lead and tried to ignore his little mewls. "Don't touch him," she cried out suddenly, pulling the dog behind her, as the boy ran over to them and reached out to Cyrus.

"Look, I'm sorry," his mother apologised, noticing for the first time upon seeing Cyrus from behind that he was wearing a harness, and also noticing for the first time upon seeing the young woman facing the sunlight that she had an odd little mark upon one eye. "I didn't realise you were blind."

"I didn't either," Christine mumbled, finally turning and leading Cyrus away, his warning mewls deep in his throat.

Yes, she had her pride… but she tried so hard too, to be – or _seem _– happy. She still did ordinary, daily things – she went to work, she attended the opera, she attempted to socialise… in fact, she'd somehow managed to convince the resident composer at the Royal Opera House that she was a regular, happy-go-lucky sort of girl enough that he had asked her out without too much hesitation or too many unanswered questions about Cyrus – and she'd even managed to convince his father and flatmate. It was beyond her how they could have missed the quiet grief in her eyes or the resigned smile shadowing an altogether less attractive expression.

And when she'd seen Erik again at the restaurant she worked in, finding herself presented with the opportunity of helping him, she could not stop herself. Perhaps she liked helping other people because it detracted from her own feelings of helplessness… perhaps not… but she did not stop to think of such things. There were some things better left well enough alone.

* * *

"Hey, Chris," Raoul greeted, walking into Laurent's break room just behind her. "I thought I'd stop by and see you…"

"That's sweet, Raoul," she tried to smile, opening her locker to get ready, "but I'm working…"

"I know…" Unaffected, he sat himself down upon the bench, watching while she went about juggling her dog's lead from arm to arm as she got her coat off and hung it up and tied her apron around her waist. "Last night was fun," he announced, though he had thought the opera was boring, not understandable and the worst music he had ever heard. Still, she had been worth it, he thought.

"Yes," she agreed, a smile appearing on her face at the thought of the opera. She'd loved it, being in that sort of environment, feeling the beauty of the opera all around her. She had completely blanked out everything else to focus solely on the wonder of the performance. There had been a little trouble over Cyrus, as usual, of course… like they suddenly couldn't see his jacket because they were in an opera house and nobody, God forbid, would _ever_ bring a canine there, would they?

* * *

"_No dogs allowed in the theatre, madam," an usher informed her as Raoul had stepped away for a moment to tell the front-of-house manager that they'd arrived. She felt frustrated, wanting to just leave… to run away and hide as usual – and she would have done so had Raoul not approached her then, taking a hold of her arm._

_The usher looked expectantly between them and Raoul introduced himself, explaining that they were to be shown to the directors' box. "Yes, sir, once the dog is removed."_

"_No, **the** **dog** stays," Christine argued, hating to feel so riled up on an evening when she was supposed to be having a good time. "**The** **dog** is a support dog."_

"_But I'm afraid that we do not allow dogs in our theatre," he continued, sure that he was in the right._

"_He's a support dog," she repeated._

_They stared at each other and, after a moment, the usher seemed to concede when a large group had formed in wait behind the young couple. "Oh. Well, can I interest you in the Braille programme for tonight's performance?"_

"_No, thank you, I cannot read Braille." Seeing the confusion cross the usher's eyes, she smiled falsely and wished she knew how to keep her manners in check when she was angry. "What, can **you**?"_

"_No… I… No, I'm not blind."_

"_Well, that makes two of us on both counts then, doesn't it?" And she walked right passed him, though she did not know where she was headed, bumping his shoulder roughly to make herself feel better. And fortunately, somewhere along the way, Raoul caught up to her and redirected her towards the correct box._

* * *

Surprisingly, she had somehow managed to put the scene behind her and enjoy the night for what it was. She'd even had a little fun when an attendant had asked at the intermission if she wouldn't care for a drink, and she'd told him that a drink was alright but she'd really rather he cut up a large steak into small, chewable chunks. He'd thought she was joking until he noticed the dog looking up at him peculiarly from the side of the young woman's knee.

Another highlight to the night had been the conductor – it was clearly Erik, who she'd only met earlier that very day. His conducting had been energetic and lively. She couldn't help herself thinking that he had been pretty bloody good, so active and exaggerated – it was attractive… He had been so beautiful then, doing what came naturally, it seemed. She couldn't imagine why Raoul thought he needed to be taught _anything_… it didn't make sense. But it had been nice seeing him anyway, especially looking back on it now that he'd been in to the restaurant and she'd found out about his problem.

"How is your flatmate?" she asked suddenly, unable to quash her curiosity as she closed her locker soundly in front of her.

"You mean my dad?" Raoul asked, confused.

"No… your other flatmate – your father's friend."

"Why do you care?" Raoul asked curiously.

Shrugging nonchalantly, she checked briefly the rota for the next week and simultaneously checked, by touch alone, the pocket of her apron for her order pad. "He had lunch in here today and I was just wondering how he was doing now…"

"Why should I know?"

Turning shortly to look at him, slightly puzzled, she wrinkled her nose and tried not to show that she was really very interested indeed. "You work with him, don't you…?"

He'd forgotten himself – had almost given the game away as well – by such a simple mistake too, forgetting what he said he worked as. He'd have to be more careful or he'd end up having to explain everything. "Oh, yes… of course."

"Well?"

Satisfied that he'd saved himself, her question caught him a bit off guard as he'd forgotten the original focus of their conversation. "What?"

"How is he today?"

"He's… he's fine, I guess."

"Tell him I was asking after him," she said offhandedly, taking a hair band out of her pocket to put her hair up and out of the way.

"Of course."

Seeing her struggling to both adjust her hair and keep from strangling her dog with the lead, he reached forward to take it from her but found her abruptly twirling around to face him and tugging the dog behind her.

"Don't touch Cyrus, Raoul," she warned, not for the first time, quickly finishing with her hair as she watched him warily.

"I'm sorry, I was only trying to help… You haven't told me yet why I can't."

"I'd rather you didn't ask that of me," she sighed, wishing they could have gone more than two days together without him bringing up such a conversation. It was always the same… people would ask in the beginning and she would cut off all contact with them before the day was through. But she didn't want to do that with Raoul… truly, she liked him, and she had resolved to give herself a chance to get to like him a lot more.

"Would you answer me if I did?"

"No. I've got to get out there now before Laurent's niece decides to tell him I spent half my shift in the break room."

"I understand," Raoul conceded, though he didn't. "Would you like to do something tonight?"

Determined to try to be more social, she forced back the immediate sickening sensation and plastered a smile across her face, turning to him one last time just as she left the room. "I'd like that."

* * *

"Erik?"

"_What_?" he replied tiredly, rolling his eyes out of view, as Raoul came up behind him in the kitchen that evening.

"Dad told me what you said…"

Putting the large knife down he had been using to skilfully slice some vegetables, so that he wouldn't get tempted, he prepared himself to listen to whatever self-concerned speech the irritating boy was about to give. "Really? About gutting you…? I would not have thought that'd come up often in polite conversation…"

"Uh, no… that you don't mind if I bring Christine around here… so, I thought I'd let you know that she'll be coming over when she's finished her shift."

"She's coming _here_?" he asked sharply, turning around.

"Yes… you did say that was alright, didn't you?" While Raoul knew that he and Erik didn't exactly have the best relationship to speak of, he certainly didn't hold anything against the man. He knew he could be grumpy and that he was temperamental, but generally Raoul chalked all of the comments he made up to that part of his character. He knew that Erik probably resented him for encroaching upon his space while at university, but it was never his intention to make him uncomfortable in his own home.

"Of course I did. I meant, you are making her come all the way over here by herself? You are supposed to be her boyfriend, aren't you? And what have _you_ been doing all afternoon, hmm? Because you've certainly not been working like she has… One would think you'd pick her up, take her home so that she can change… do _something_. I mean, it's not like you've been over here making her tea or anything, is it?"

"Well, I do have to go back to university in a couple of weeks… and then I'm going to be studying too much to have a job. And I didn't think about giving her a lift – I just didn't realise – I'll apologise."

"Make sure that you do."

"But speaking of food… I don't suppose she could have some of what _you're_ making?" he asked.

Erik sighed and leaned against the worktop heavily. It was not like he could refuse on principal – it would only be the lovely Christine who would suffer as a result. She'd end up with nothing but fast food and a cheap evening. Raoul was a charmer – but he was more used to charming the sort of girls who thought fast food at his flat was the very image of a high-class evening. Christine deserved finer things… and Erik wanted to give them to her. "She can have anything she wants."

Satisfied, Raoul nodded and closed that topic off. "So do me a favour and not blow it for me, hmm? Don't tell her I'm not a conductor. I _will_ tell her the truth when we've been going out for a bit longer."

Erik snorted derisively and started chopping again now that he had a young lady to cook for besides himself. "Perhaps I should just hand you my CV now – give you something to boast about while she eats the food _I've _cooked her."

"I'm grateful," Raoul said honestly. Truly, he hadn't meant to lie to her and also to put Erik in a difficult situation like that, but he had seen her and one look told him that she would want someone of more substance than him – someone like Erik… and he'd wanted her to give him a chance, so he'd said the first thing that came into his head. He swore he would put it right eventually.

"You're gratified… or, at least, you expect to be – but I wouldn't be so sure."

"Oh, come on, Erik… I'm in love. I want to impress her."

_As if you're capable of actually being in love_, Erik thought, though it was not because of the brevity of the time Raoul had known the girl… after all, he could not mention that _he _too was feeling things for her that he should not, considering he'd met her a grand total of twice. And while Erik also wanted to impress her, _honestly_, he did not think himself capable… he could barely string a coherent sentence together around her. "If she is not impressed by the truth, that is _her_ choice," he said, trying to ignore the implication that that brought on himself. "You cannot make it for her."

"But when she's gotten to know me properly, I'll tell her and we'll work it out…"

"You mean when she's gotten to know the illusion…?" he said pointedly. "It is not sustainable. You will slip up." And actually, Erik thought briefly about telling Raoul something stupid that he would repeat to Christine – something that _she _would know was illogical and wrong but that he would not be able to detect… but then he was threatened with the idea of her never coming back to the flat even to see Raoul and that meant that he had to keep his information true and his help forthcoming. The alternative was far too awful.

"I just want to make her happy… Help me do that properly."

He wanted that so much too, Erik did – to make her happy… but by himself, and completely apart from Raoul's deception. Though, with all his stuttering, he'd never manage it. "You've been alone with her before."

"But that was at an opera and she was so into it that she didn't really notice what I was saying… now we'll be alone practically with no other distractions and I need to know what to say to her that won't bore her to death."

"Have you tried asking about _her_?" Erik suggested.

"She doesn't like talking about herself… I've asked… about her parents… her friends… Cyrus…"

"Cyrus?"

"The dog," he explained, leaning back against the side cupboard.

"You asked about her dog?" Erik asked incredulously. "What is wrong with you?"

"What? What's wrong with asking about him? He is always with her!" Raoul argued.

Erik sighed and shook his head, thinking quickly. "We don't have time for this… forget the dog for the minute. You haven't found the right part of her to talk about. Show her you're interested in _her_… in what she likes to do… you already know that she loves music and literature… that she has a great love of the classical disposition."

"I don't know anything about that sort of thing…"

"Then what exactly do you have in common with this girl… if you have to pretend to be _me _just to get her to go out with you?" he snapped.

Offended, Raoul completely blew up. "And why am I taking advice from a man who's never even had a girlfriend?" he shouted, storming out of the kitchen just as the doorbell rang. "Oh… hey, Chris," he greeted her tiredly, inviting her in.

She looked at him, confused at his apparent frustration, and she hesitated in stepping inside. "I'm not too early, am I?" she asked nervously, looking at her watch. "I could come back…"

"No, you're right on time… I was just cooking dinner for us… got a bit caught up," he offered, thinking as quickly as he could, given his annoyed state of mind. _Great, Raoul… another lie_, he berated himself, _you bloody idiot_.

"I bet you're a wonderful cook."

"Mmm," he replied ambiguously, offering her a seat, which she accepted politely, though she sat on the same chair again, her dog by her side, rather than on the sofa with him. After a moment of awkward silence, which Christine spent scratching behind Cyrus' ears, Raoul stood up and excused himself to the kitchen, ready to beg Erik for help.

"Erik?"

"_What_?" he repeated from earlier, this time stirring something Raoul couldn't so much see, but smell the wonderful aroma of, on the stove.

"She's here."

"So?"

"I don't know what to say to her…" Raoul tried desperately, starting to worry as she was just sitting out there probably thinking he was the worst host ever.

"Well, that's not my fault."

"No… but… Erik, please. Look at her. Erik, look at her."

Ordinarily, Erik would have told Raoul to stick it, that he wasn't about to do anything the boy told him to, but then he couldn't justify denying himself the chance of seeing her again just to enforce a point. He turned stiffly and peered out the door at the young woman he would forever know as a goddess. She had her head bowed towards Cyrus, a smile appearing on her face as she looked at him, and Erik couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she found herself more in tune to animals than people. He had often found himself in much the same situation.

"Christine was asking after you, you know…" Raoul started, hoping to convince him.

"Why?" He looked at Raoul like he was crazy… after all, why would a girl like _her_ ever care what was going on with _him_?

"She said you ate at Laurent's today…"

"What else did she say?" he asked more curiously than he had intended, unable to draw his eyes away from her quiet elegance. She was sitting in his chair again, he noticed… he liked that. It was like they had another thing in common, he thought, if they both preferred the same chair, the same operas… and so many other things he hoped he'd find out about her. But he would only find them out if he helped Raoul to keep her interested, so he turned back to the stove and continued making her something she would enjoy eating.

Raoul shrugged, happy that he'd gotten Erik back on track. "I don't know… that she was thinking about you, maybe. She is a very kind person," he added.

Erik sighed without realising it and Raoul took that to mean that he'd conceded. "Great! So what should I say?"

"Until I've had a chance to teach you something about music, stick to what you know or what _she _doesn't… has she travelled much?"

"I don't know…"

"Well, _ask_ her. And if she has, ask her about it – if she hasn't, tell her where you've been without boasting, if you can manage that for one moment. Tell her of the beauty of the places you've been… the culture."

"Oh. I get the idea," he said enthusiastically, walking back out to her without waiting to hear any more.

Shaking his head, Erik wiped his hands with a dishtowel and replaced it on his shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of having been used. Momentarily, he turned back to the door to see how the conversation was going and found he hated the boy even more. _He is playing with her hair_, a nagging inner-voice teased. _He is touching that gorgeous hair, with her consent, and you are not even allowed to think of such a privilege. _Jealousy was eating at him as he watched his friend's son stroke the hair of a girl he had found himself thinking of as _his_ somewhere along the way.

So when the boy halted the conversation to leave the room for a moment, no doubt to preen again, Erik thought spitefully, he decided to seize the opportunity to talk to her again. "Ch – Chr – Chr – Christine." _Oh, my God… not in your own home, Erik! Not again!_

"Hello," she smiled sincerely, finding herself happy to see him there. "I didn't know you were here… Raoul didn't mention we'd have company. I'm glad," she said honestly. "You _must_ tell me all about your work! Raoul doesn't talk much about his… perhaps you are less reserved?"

He could barely say her name… how was he going to tell her anything worthwhile? And yet, she had smiled when he'd spoken to her! She'd been genuine, he thought, and she'd not even looked _slightly_ frustrated by his lack of fluency. Perhaps she really did want to know… How he hoped that was the case. So, he did start telling her and she listened, sitting there through all his stuttering and bumbling, and she seemed truly interested, and she was the most wonderful, beautiful creature he'd ever been around. He just wished his conversation could be a bit more polished for her. He had even, somewhere along the way, just about forgotten the stark white mask across his face and his very real fear of her rejecting him for it.

Then he listened to her talk about working at Laurent's, her childhood dream of being an opera singer, her love for music… and he could turn his mind to nothing but what she was saying. He had even forgotten that Raoul existed, let alone that he was her boyfriend and in the next room. "Do you want children, Christine?" he asked suddenly, surprising himself both with what he'd said and that he had not stuttered once. _What the hell sort of question was that? What are you **doing**, asking her that? Why do you even want to know? _

She didn't seem to notice and continued as though there had been absolutely no change in the flow of their conversation. "I'm not sure that I would…" she started, licking that delightful lower lip of hers. "Of course, like most little girls, I did want to get married and have children one day. And I suppose I still might, but I'd have to meet the right person first…and then there'd be a whole load of other things to work out too. I have enough trouble looking after _myself_," she joked. "I don't know how I'd handle a child."

"You have an immense capacity for love, Christine," Erik stated, sure, though he had little proof and he could not claim to know her very well at all anyway. He had surprised himself again, saying that, and not stuttering once more. But he brushed it off and continued to look at her. She had distracted him enough in that moment that his nervousness had evaporated, if just for that second. He also would not allow himself to acknowledge the fact that she'd said in not quite so many words that Raoul wasn't the right man for her because she had implied that she hadn't found the right one yet… but, unfortunately, that could apply to him too since she had obviously already met him.

Smiling genuinely, she leaned over to him and lightly touched his knee in gratitude. He couldn't believe she was touching him like that and he tensed up, watching her out of habit for any signs that she wanted to cause him pain. But she didn't seem very well capable of causing harm to _anything_, so he tried to relax. And then he noticed that she had had her hand on his knee for a very long time, and she was not moving, staring straight through him.

"Ch – Christine?" he asked worriedly. What had he done? Had he frightened her? Had he said something completely inappropriate? She had not seemed to think so at the time… and she was still smiling at him, too. She appeared perfectly fine, in fact, except for the grip he felt on his knee.

Next to her, Cyrus cocked his head to the side and pressed his nose into her thigh solidly. Watching the dog try to get her attention too, Erik noticed Christine's hand tightening on his knee, not painfully, but hard enough that he gripped her wrist worriedly to see if her hand would loosen.

"Christ – tine?" he tried again, pulling on her.

And then she screamed.

© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, July 2006

Confused? Please leave a review…


	3. Chapter 3: Forever Running

**Let Me Be Your Hero**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own POTO… but I do own Dom and Cyrus.

**A/N: **Thank you _so much _to everyone who left me those wonderful reviews. I do so hope you will all review again… it might just cheer me up. This is for all of you, and for **Adora's World**, because sometimes it's nice to get a massive poke in the ribs once in a while and a subtle, albeit telling, reprimand for being ever the procrastinator. And also for **theangelcried**, because I didn't catch you before you started back and I so wish I had. And just as much for **Ripper** because I have been so long in doing _anything_ online but I intend to catch up again… how many times have you heard that, eh? And for everybody else because I have not been around for a while and I'm sure you'd rather I updated more often than I do. I am having the month from Hell, seriously. But regardless, **Tiochfaidh ár Lá**, for those of you who read it, will be updated next… and I won't take anywhere near as long, I promise.

Please read and review…

**Chapter 3: Forever Running…**

_Next to her, Cyrus cocked his head to the side and pressed his nose into her thigh solidly. Watching the dog try to get her attention too, Erik noticed Christine's hand tightening on his knee, not painfully, but hard enough that he gripped her wrist worriedly to see if her hand would loosen._

"_Christ – tine?" he tried again, pulling on her._

_And then she screamed._

Jumping up instantly, Erik at first took an instinctive step back, recoiling from the sound, and then his worry for her took over and he bent down, shaking her by the shoulders lightly. "Christine?" he said hurriedly as the death-grip she had had on his knee was relocated to his wrist when he knelt before her and took hold of her hands. He was confused beyond belief… usually, when people screamed at him, they did not hold onto him as tightly as she was. They were also usually outside at night and frightened of him if he happened to be walking towards them on an otherwise deserted street, and they were usually completely conscious of the fact that they were screaming at a man in a mask. This was so different, he couldn't think what to do.

Rushing back into the room, Raoul looked between the two of them, confused, and went over to Christine's side, only hampered by the dog who was already there. He was baffled, obviously – he didn't have a clue what Erik could have done to make her scream. He had thought what Erik asked her was a bit forward, yes, but he hadn't thought it frightening… He wouldn't admit to it if asked, but he had been standing just inside the door of his room for the longest time… All he'd gone in for were some photos from his last holiday abroad to show her, and then he'd heard talking and he'd stood inside the door to listen to their conversation. Erik had gotten her to reveal so much to him about her life and her hopes and, in short, everything Raoul wanted to know. So he'd waited, taking it in to see if he could do something about it at a later date. He was going to have to get Erik to teach him how to get her to open up like that, he knew, and he wished, for the first time in his life, that he had taken to music more easily. Here was this beautiful, wonderful girl with him – his girlfriend, in fact – and his father's best friend, who stuttered more in any one sentence when he was nervous than Raoul had when he was tiny and learning to read, but yet Erik was the one succeeding in getting through to her. It made him jealous beyond belief – but it was also a huge relief… after all, Erik could always teach Raoul how to talk to her – if neither of them had been able to, he would be in a much worse predicament…

Placing his hands on Christine to try to get her attention, he momentarily found himself looking towards Erik in suspicion. He suddenly suspected something to do with the mask but then he dismissed that thought as really quite unlikely since he had been living there for ages and not once had Erik's mask ever moved from his face while he was there. "Christine?" he said softly.

And she turned towards him, blinking slowly. She looked at him suddenly lucidly and the grip she had on Erik's hand loosened gradually until he no longer felt such a conscious urgent worry. "What?" she asked tiredly, using her now free hand to rub her right eye.

"Christine, you screamed!" Raoul said quickly, wondering how she could just forget what had caused her such fright. "What happened? You frightened the life out of me!"

She looked at him peculiarly and he returned the look, watching her with great curiosity. Briefly, she looked around herself at the room and looked back at him again nervously, unable to say anything.

Erik didn't like seeing her embarrassed, and though he wanted nothing more than to be sure she was completely and unequivocally alright, he could not let her continue to be focused upon if she did not want to be. "Raoul, get Christine a glass of water."

"But–"

"_Now_."

Conceding that Erik might actually have a point, Raoul sighed and got up, heading into the kitchen where he knew he was supposed to wait patiently for a while until the older man deemed it alright to come back out. And as he left the room, trying to calm down, sure that Erik was probably better at handling this situation, though that thought did not particularly comfort him, he wondered if he would have gone to this much trouble had it been anyone but Christine. He didn't think he would… there was just something magical about her that made her so special compared to everyone else.

"I'm sorry," Christine whispered to Erik in the living room, her eyes slowly filling up with tears. He shook his head sadly and let go of her at last, sitting back on the edge of the sofa behind him. She looked up at him and stood suddenly, her hand slightly shaking as she took hold of Cyrus' lead. "Could I use your bathroom?"

Leading her there, Erik couldn't help but feel useless as the door shut behind her. Of course, he had done nothing _technically_ wrong, but he felt like the whole debacle was his fault somehow. Surely he had done or said something that had precipitated whatever had upset her. He leaned back against the door and ran a hand across his face tiredly, unaware that, at the same time, on the other side of the door, Christine was mirroring the gesture.

* * *

"How long has she been in there?" Raoul asked at last as he and Erik sat in the living room on opposite arms of the sofa, both staring as far as they could around the bend in the hall, in silence up until that moment.

Somewhat exhausted from the events of the evening, Erik briefly – and _tiredly_ – looked down at his watch and shook his head sadly. "Oh… about half an hour." Then he went right back to staring with Raoul as he had been doing for the longest time. Truly, he had never cared so much in his life that someone was taking so long in the bathroom… yes, he hated it when Raoul decided to spend an age in their when Erik was trying to get ready for work quickly, but that was annoyance more than anything. _This_ was nothing but concern.

Raoul nodded and let a few moments of silence pass before he asked another question. "Do you think she's embarrassed to come out?"

Neither taking their eyes away from the hallway, Erik nervously fidgeted with his watch, though he was not interesting in looking at it, and started to worry that perhaps she had not come out for a worse reason. "I certainly hope not," he answered at last. "But better that than…" Trailing off, he shook his head and stood up, unsure whether he wanted to pace or check on her.

"So what do you think that was all about tonight, then?" Raoul asked.

"It is not for us to discuss. If she wishes to confide in you, then fair enough… but otherwise, you will only hurt her to speculate." And Erik truly believed that… he had gone through his fair share of speculation and it never did anyone any good. He did not wish for Christine to have to face it too. And yet, he could not help but be curious… indeed, he was curious by nature, always taking things apart to see how they worked and putting them back together again. But Christine was a decidedly fascinating entity he could never analyse like that… and he mourned that he felt he could never put her back together as he wanted to.

Hearing the front door open behind them, they both turned to watch Dom come in and set his things down. "Why are you two in here together?" he asked curiously, taking off his coat and hanging it up. "And how was your dinner with Christine, Raoul?"

Raoul shrugged unhappily and stood up briefly as he moved to actually sit on the sofa. "I wouldn't know yet, Dad, she's been in the bathroom for the last half hour."

"What did you say to her?"

"For once, Dominic, he has not done anything worthy of blame," Erik said unpredictably, fingering the hem of his waistcoat as he still looked on ever-hopeful down the hallway and remained disconnected from the other men in the room.

Raoul smiled unexpectedly, surprised and oddly happy that Erik really thought that. It was a start, he supposed – he was one step closer to actually saying something nice about him.

At length, the three men loitering in the living room heard the lock on the bathroom door turn and they saw Christine coming around the corner in the hall, each having an entirely different experience. Dom was somewhat detached, seeing as he hadn't been there at the time and didn't really know what was going on. Raoul was relieved that she'd come out and he hoped that he could convince Erik and his father to give them some space – he really wanted her to confide in him. Erik, meanwhile, could not take his eyes off of her. To him, she was flawed and beautiful and perfect all at the same time. She was a wonder, yes, but he also found himself relieved that she was human enough to have her own little intricacies and faults – something that gave him the slightest hope she was attainable. While he still thought of her as his goddess with a canine companion, he knew that there was no way he could achieve anything so long as he perceived her as a sublime being and nothing else. So he was happy to see that she, too, had her shortcomings, if they could really be called that – problems, even… things she needed help with or could not fully control herself.

"I have been the worst houseguest ever," she said apologetically as she came fully into the room, looking between the faces of the three men, her face rather red – whether from embarrassment or upset, the men could not tell. "I am so sorry. You invite me here and I upset everything…" Shaking her head in awkwardness, she sighed and looked down. "Let me take up no more of your time or hospitality…" And she started towards the door only to find herself being stopped by all three men at once.

"Stay and have dinner with me, Christine," Raoul said, pulling her back around the coffee table to the chair she had taken as her own.

She looked at him sceptically – _curiously_ – and tilted her head to one side in a gesture she sometimes thought she had picked up from her dog. "Are you sure?"

"Of c – course," Erik answered for him, unwilling to be dismissed so easily, especially after he'd cooked the whole meal himself.

"Can I get you some wine, Christine?" Dom asked, and Raoul felt as if everybody had just invited themselves to the dinner he was supposed to be sharing with his girlfriend alone.

"No, thank you… I don't drink."

"Can I g – get s – s – something for C – Cyrus?" Erik asked, causing Christine to smile at his thoughtfulness and Raoul to mentally kick himself for not having come up with that first.

She smiled then at all three of them, endeared that they were all making sure that she had everything she needed. "That's so kind of you. He eats pretty much anything," she replied light-heartedly. "He _shouldn't_, of course… but he does." She was so glad she'd met them all, now – though she'd been so nervous at first… she was really unused to mixing with people socially. But she'd taken a chance with Raoul and she was so glad she had – she suddenly felt like she had friends other than her dog, Cyrus. She had actual human friends to talk to – she really did think of Erik now as her best friend, which was an odd thing to say about someone she'd only met a sparse few times… but he was so dear and so nice to her and they could talk of so much. He was officially her best friend, though she wouldn't tell him that as she knew there was absolutely no way he thought of her as that too. And she had Raoul for her boyfriend – a man so sweet and interesting when he found the right things to say. She supposed he was just getting used to her and what she liked and then it would be easier for him to know what to say and do.

She felt awkward over what had just happened that evening, but they were all being so nice as not to bring it up and she truly appreciated that about them. Most people were not so kind, and here she had found _three_… granted, one had not even been there and did not witness what had happened, but she still thought he wouldn't have said anything even if he had. And as Erik went to get Cyrus something to eat and check that the whole kitchen hadn't burnt down, Dom sat down across the coffee table from her enthusiastically. He and Erik had never had dinner with Raoul and any one of his previous girlfriends before, but he quite looked forward to sharing this meal with Christine. She was an interesting young lady and one he would quite happily call his daughter-in-law one day if it so happened. But he was getting ahead of himself… right now, she had only been going out with his son for the shortest time. Still, he hoped to get to know her a bit better and to perhaps explore the way she seemed to have made Erik not so much at Raoul's throat all the time. She had done a lot in a very short time and he could only imagine the influence she would have if she stuck around longer.

"So, Christine," he started, leaning forwardly eagerly in his chair. "Raoul tells me you are a waitress…"

Looking up at him, unsure what she was supposed to say in reply to that, she tried to decipher what he had meant behind that comment. Perhaps he was trying to make sure she was good enough for his son… "That isn't all I want to do for the rest of my life," she said defensively, though she needn't have been.

Dom was surprised she had taken it that way… he had only meant it as a conversation starter, though clearly he needed to rethink his 'tactics' with this particular girl. "Of course not…"

"I do aspire to be something more than that… but, like any other person, I do what pays the bills, first and foremost."

"I'm sorry if I offended you…" Dom replied hesitantly.

Embarrassed that she had been so utterly defensive towards him for no reason whatsoever, she shook her head and looked down briefly. "No, I am being too sensitive. I suppose I am just used to people assuming that that is all I can do with myself."

"I would never think that," Dom laughed. "You are clearly a remarkable young woman. Tell me, do you go to college or university?"

She cleared her throat uncomfortably and shook her head again, wishing Raoul would step in and say something too instead of just listening to their conversation. Yes, she wanted try to be more social, but she wasn't sure if she was up to answering all these questions about herself to her boyfriend's father when she had really only known them all for a short time and she was still getting used to being welcomed into their house and company. "Not yet… I intend to. But I have not gotten the chance yet."

Dom nodded and continued with his line of thought, going to the next obvious question to ask her. "What would you like to read?"

"Oh, well, I…" She started to say what she really wanted to do and then she stopped herself, knowing that she could never do that. Coughing to cover up her hesitation, she changed her answer and hoped she wasn't too unbelievable. "Probably Music – non-performance…"

"That's a very admirable choice… I hope it works out for you to be able to go soon." And he smiled genuinely, truly hoping that she did not find it too difficult getting in anywhere. He could vaguely remember the year before he went to university and it had been the worst and most hectic in his whole life. He hoped it wasn't like that for her.

Erik walked in just at that point and Christine thanked goodness for the temporary distraction and the possible change in focus. "Ch – Christine… I don't w – want to make you uncom – comfortable, but I don't know wh – what you usually d – do… when you are h – home, if Cyrus is normally off his l – lead, then you are welcome to let him roam, here."

"Yes, Christine," Dom agreed, glad his friend had suggested it – maybe it would make the poor girl feel more at ease. "Nobody would mind if you wanted to take him off the lead for a while… if you are comfortable with that, of course."

"That's kind of you… you must know I don't mean to impose him on you. He will be no trouble, I promise." And she unhooked the lead from his collar, ruffling his fur while she was at it. He'd been quiet for a long time and she supposed that was because he was no more used to socialising than _she _was.

"So what were you talking about before I got home?" Dom asked, not really seeing the problem with that question.

Christine looked up from Cyrus and met his gaze uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. And by some awesome stroke of luck, the clock on the mantle chimed just as she was starting to feel that overwhelming sensation of not belonging again. Fluidly looking at the time for show, she stood up quickly and replaced the lead on Cyrus' collar, hoping he would forgive her for his ever-so-brief bit of freedom. "I hadn't realised it was so late… I have work in the morning, so I'd better go. Thank you for having me," she said as she hurriedly replaced her coat and opened the front door.

"H – how are you g – getting home?" Erik asked with concern, coming to stand next to her. "Let m – me drive you."

"No, it's alright, I'll walk."

"But it's d – d – dark n – now," he stuttered, following her out the door, even as Raoul gave up for the night and Dom wondered what he had said that had upset her so. "It would be s – safer if I drove y – you." He was getting worked up and he didn't like that he was having more difficulty speaking with her. The evening had been an atrocious mess and none of it had been _her_ fault.

"Thank you, but I have an Alsatian… most muggers tend not to attack people with large, seemingly vicious dogs. It's nice to know you care, though," she laughed self-deprecatingly.

"At least, let me w – walk with you."

"But then you'd have to walk back on you own…"

"I can t – take c – care of myself," he said, and, his nervous stutter notwithstanding, she quite believed him. "It would mean m – my peace of mind if y – you al – allow me to ac – accompany you."

By this time stepping out of his building and onto the street, she couldn't think of a legitimate reason to turn him away, and she nodded, continuing along the pavement at the same fevered pace until Erik managed to convince her that she needn't run all the way home.

Several minutes passed in silence and she turned to him, curious to know the answer to a question that had come to her when Raoul's father had been speaking to her. "Did you always want to be a conductor?" she asked as they walked.

"No… actually, I w – wanted to b – be a performer, but, in th – this life, one must accept one's l – limitations."

"Oh," she said with a significant hint of disappointment. "Are you saying it is pointless to dream?"

Shaking his head, he turned to her and stopped walking pointedly so that she would give him her full attention. "Not for _you_, Ch – Christine. For _me_… well, I ha – have conceded that."

"It shouldn't be that way… and what makes _us _any different?"

"You must be the only p – person in the wo – world that cannot see the potential in you."

"And yours?"

They both fell silent after that, unwilling to go any further in hurtful territory for both of them.

"You needn't come any further," she said suddenly, surprising them both. "I don't live that far away now and I can manage from here." And, with that, she ran ahead of him, hoping she hadn't confused Cyrus too much by changing the pace constantly.

Erik stopped exactly where he was, sighing as he watched her disappear around the bend in the road. Would she always be running? Or could he, unimportant in her life though he was, actually manage to get her to realise that running wasn't the answer? Perhaps then, he would take his own advice and realise the same, or perhaps _she _would manage to convince _him_… Either way, there was something enigmatic about Christine Daaé… and he was nothing if not eager to figure it out if he could keep her still long enough to actually find anything out about her.

But even as she had told him of her dreams and her aspirations, she had been running then too… running away from the subject of _her_ in reality. She could tell him what she had always wanted to do, where she had always wanted to go, yes, and yet she could not tell him what was stopping her now, where the people she loved the most were or why she was so eager to excuse herself at any given moment. She couldn't tell him why she was a waitress when he would happily have given her a job as he was sure anyone in the industry would have. She couldn't tell him why she stuck so eagerly to what was _safe_. She couldn't even tell him who she was, besides her name… she couldn't tell him who she was _really_.

She was Christine Daaé… and she was forever running.

© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, September 2006

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